


Put the World Together

by onceuponanevilangel



Category: Agent Carter (TV)
Genre: F/F, Memory Alteration, Oops, and maybe not fall in love with her target, angie really needs to sort out her priorities
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-04-05
Updated: 2015-07-24
Packaged: 2018-03-21 10:38:06
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,026
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3689124
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/onceuponanevilangel/pseuds/onceuponanevilangel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>It was Friday, March 23. Or was it Saturday? And what year is it again? Hydra's captured one of the world's foremost secret agents with the goal of picking her brain from the inside out. Too bad Angie's got a habit of breaking the rules and a penchant for falling for the wrong people.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Credit for this idea goes to plus1str on tumblr with a special thanks to Easter candy for giving me the final push to finish and post this. Don't own it. Wish I did. Enjoy.

Wake up,  
you’ll need your wits about you.  
This is not a dream,  
but a woman who loves you, speaking.  
-Kathleen Norris, _Mrs. Adam_  

* * *

**Saturday, March 23, 1946**

It was a cold, rainy Saturday morning and Peggy was very _very_ late.

She got dressed in the dark as quietly as she could to keep from waking Colleen up and scrambled around the apartment trying to remember where on earth she had put her pocketbook. When she finally found it on the shelf in the closet, she was already ten minutes late to work, still hadn’t brushed her hair, and was definitely not going to have time for coffee before she left.

And she was only wearing one shoe.

Which she only realized when she halfway down the hallway.

Peggy whirled around, mumbling curses under her breath as she raced back to her apartment, grabbed her other shoe, and hurried back outside.

She paused under the awning in front of the building for a moment to catch her breath.

That’s when she realized that it was pouring rain. And she had forgotten to grab her umbrella.

She glanced down at her watch. It was already quarter past nine. Dooley would have her ass if she was any later than she was going be.

She cursed again and held her pocketbook above her head as she stepped out into the downpour.

By the time she got halfway down the block, she was already soaked to the bone and praying that she still had a spare set of clothes at work.

With the way her morning was going, she highly doubted it.

A car sped past, spraying her with a wave of dirty water that would probably stain her stockings for good. She groaned and looked around as if she was going to find someone else responsible for the mess her morning already was.

That was when she noticed the lights coming from the automat across the street.

She had never been in there before, but it looked so warm and dry and she could practically smell the coffee already. Even so, she was already ridiculously late and every muscle in her body was telling her to just keep walking and hope that she wouldn’t be fired.

But she walked across the street.

She was inside, water dripping off her clothes onto the linoleum before she even realized what she was doing and by then there was no sense in leaving without getting something.

Peggy walked over to the counter, took a seat on one of the empty stool, folded her hands on the countertop, and waited. 

* * *

**Friday, March 23, 1956**

“Memory is a funny thing.”

The man speaking is dressed in a white lab coat and though he introduced himself at the start of the briefing, Angie’s already forgotten his name. His voice is loud and strong like he’s lecturing an entire team despite the fact that there’s only three other people in the room.

“It’s fluid. Malleable. It represents a doorway to the past, present, and future. It holds the shadows of what once was while guarding the secrets we never let see the light of day.”

Angie taps her fingers nervously against the tabletop and her leg keeps bouncing up and down. She’squite obviously the youngest person in the conference room and the only field agent. The other two are a severe-looking woman in a lab coat and wire-rimmed glasses and a middle-aged man who’s taking down everything that’s being said on a yellow notepad.

Angie’s not even entirely sure why she’s here. There have to be at least a dozen agents more qualified than her, but she’s not going to be the one to question orders that supposedly came from Dr. Zola himself.

So she sits there, fingers tapping and leg bouncing as the man keeps on talking.

“Now, I’m sure you’re all wondering why exactly I’ve called you all here today,” he says.

Angie stops fidgeting and snaps to attention. She can see the woman on the other side of the table do the same. The man with the pad just keeps on scribbling.

Lab Coat Man’s lips twitch up at the corners and even though this is the first time Angie’s ever seen him she’s pretty sure that’s as close to a smile as he’s ever gotten in his life.

He steps to the side and presses a button on the bottom on the conference table. A panel in the wall slides aside to reveal a big screen like one in a movie theater. The man presses another button and the screen flickers to life all on its own.

There’s a woman laying on a lab table with an IV in her arm and leather straps on her wrists and ankles. Her eyes are closed, but her head’s twitching and her lips are parted like she’s dreaming.

Angie knows her.

Well, only through pictures and reputation, but can identify this woman in a heartbeat.

Peggy Carter.

The co-founder of SHIELD and one of the world’s best secret agents is currently restrained in a Hydra lab with some unknown drug pumping through her veins.

And Angie’s about to be involved somehow.

She’s pretty sure she doesn’t want to be.

She’s also pretty sure she doesn’t have a choice.

“You.” Lab Coat Man nods at the woman in glasses who sits up even straighter in her chair. It almost looks like she’s going to snap in half if she stiffens anymore.

“Your memory serum. Is it ready to be tested yet?”

“Yes, sir,” the woman answers.

“Excellent. You’ll be administering the serum to Agent Martinelli here.”

The woman gives a curt nod and Angie’s leg starts bouncing again.

“And me, sir?” she asks. She’s proud of how steady she manages to keep her voice.

Lab Coat Man looks at her, his face stony and unreadable.

“You, Agent Martinelli, are going to be our actress.”

* * *

 

When Angie was seven years old, she had announced to her family that when she grew up, she was going to be a star.

It’s almost thirty years later and she’s living the dream.

More or less.

Her childhood dreams had always tended to end with her headlining a Broadway show, her name lighting up the avenue, or walking a red carpet with flashbulbs popping.

This is neither of those things, but she’s acting and making good money, so she’s not exactly complaining.

But if this girl’s hands don’t stop shaking, Angie’s pretty sure she’s going to hurt someone.

Most likely the girl.

Angie’s sitting on a lab table, barely five feet away from the famous Peggy Carter who is, as it turns out, shorter than her photos made her seem.

The severe woman from the conference room is filling a wicked-looking syringe with a clear liquid from a test tube on a counter.

The girl with the shaking hands—the older woman’s assistant—is standing between the two lab tables that Angie and Peggy Carter are on and she’s fiddling with some dials on a big machine. She doesn’t look old enough to have graduated yet and that only adds to Angie’s nerves.

Once the girls is satisfied with the positions of the dials—which takes significantly longer than it probably should have given the fact that her hands are practically vibrating—she unhooks a few electrodes from the side of the machine and gestures for Angie to lie down on the table before sticking the electrodes onto Peggy Carter’s temples.

“You understand the mission parameters, yes?” the severe woman asks in what sounds vaguely like a Russian accent. She steps closer to Angie’s table, tapping the syringe menacingly with long, red-painted fingernails.

Angie resists the urge to roll her eyes as she nods. Lab Coat Man, who turned out to be Dr. Zola’s second-in-command though she’s still not quite sure of his name, has explained what she needs to do at least ten times over.

“I mingle with her memories, earn her trust, we wake her up, and I interrogate her so we can get whatever information Dr. Zola wants out of her. Easy.”

“Exactly.” The woman taps the syringe again and looks at the liquid inside. “You should know that while you’re under the influence of the serum, Agent Carter’s memory will be as real as the world we’re in now. You will exist within that world as your own person and all your interactions with everyone there can have an effect on Agent Carter’s memory. It is of the utmost importance that you are cautious and avoid from tampering with things arbitrarily. If you do, there’s no telling what Agent Carter will remember when she wakes up.”

“Sounds complicated,” Angie says.

“It’s a basic honeypot operation,” the woman replies. “We have no way of knowing exactly where or when in her memory you are going to end up, but your job is simply to acclimate and infiltrate. Play your part and everything will go according to plan.”

“Yes, ma’am,” Angie says, a hint of sarcasm tingeing her voice.

Luckily, the woman doesn’t pick it up.

Instead, she just pinched Angie’s upper arm with a little more force than was probably necessary and plunged the needle into her arm, pushing the plunger down.

The serum is thick and it sits in Angie’s vein like corn syrup for a moment, but once it starts moving, she can feel it working in seconds. The room around her starts to blur and it swirls in and out of focus.

She can feel the girl sticking some more electrodes to her temples some kind of sensor to her finger.

Once she’s done, the girl moves back to the machine and flicks a switch.

Angie feels a jolt of electricity run through her brain and then everything goes black. 

* * *

When she opened her eyes, she was standing behind the counter of an automat. She was wearing a light blue uniform, holding a half-full coffee pot, and there was a plastic nametag pinned to her chest that read ‘Angie.’

So she was a waitress.

Living the dream.

She scanned the automat for a glimpse of Peggy Carter, but she wasn’t there.

There was, however, a large man sitting at the counter in front of her, snapping his fingers in her face to try to get her attention.

“Hey, Miss. Am I ever gonna get my refill?”

Angie shook her head to straighten her thoughts and then nodded.

“Yes, sir. What did you have again?”

“Coffee,” the man snapped, gesturing at the coffee pot in her hand. “Now can you hurry it up? Some of us have more important places to be.”

“’Course,” Angie said. She poured some fresh coffee into the man’s empty mug and set the pot back on the counter.

“Order up!”

The call came from the kitchen as the cook slid a plate of food onto the sill. Angie grabbed it and carried it over to the only foodless customer in the automat, a middle-aged woman in a bright floral dress.

If this was how she was how she was going to have to spend her time in Peggy Carter’s memories, Angie was pretty sure she’d go mad.

Or maybe kill someone.

Starting with the jerk at the counter who had his eyes glued to the back of her uniform.

Then the door opened and a woman walked in. She had dark eyes, dark hair, and was dripping rainwater on the linoleum floor. She took a seat at the counter, folded her hands, and looked around like she was waiting for someone.

Angie stepped back behind the counter and pulled an order pad out of her apron pocket as she walked over to the woman.

“Nice weather out there, huh?”

“That’s one word for it, yes,” the woman replied in a clipped British accent.

“So what can I get ya this morning?” Angie asked.

“Just a coffee.”

“You got it.”

Angie grabbed a clean mug, filled it with steaming black coffee, and slid it in front of the woman. She threw in a smile for good measure. She was pretty sure a good first impression was a pretty essential part of gaining trust.

The woman added her own cream and sugar and downed the coffee in a few quick swallows.

“Oh, I really needed that,” she said. “How much?” 

“On the house,” Angie replied with a dismissive wave of her hand.

“Really?”

“Yeah. You look like you could use something good this morning. Consider this that something.”

“Thank you so much. You’ve no idea the morning I’ve had.”

“No problem. See you around?” Angie asked.

“Yes,” the woman replied with a smile. “Yes, you most certainly will.”

That was the last thing she said before she got up, walked outside, and disappeared into the downpour.

* * *

 

As it turned out, seeing the woman around meant her coming back to the automat a few hours later and picking up a turkey sandwich for lunch.

Angie had spent the better part of those few hours putting up with customers who ranged anywhere from vaguely annoying to skeevy jerks. She couldn’t understand why anyone would willingly put themselves through this and if her target hadn’t walked in at that moment, she was pretty sure she was going to stab someone.

Possibly herself.

Acting was one thing. She hadn’t signed up to deal with snotty idiots for God knows how long before those scientists pulled her out of this.

But her target was there, sitting back at the counter, eating her turkey sandwich and she smiled when she saw Angie. Her eyes crinkled and her nose scrunched up a little bit and one cheek bulged where she was still chewing her food.

Angie smiled back and headed over to her.

“Hey, English. Back already?”

“Yes, well, it’s my lunch break and I realized that I forgot to tip you this morning, so here I am.”

“Aw, you don’t have to do that. Like I said, it was on the house.”

“Humor me then.”

The woman pushed a couple of crisp dollar bills across the counter and smiled at Angie again.

“Thanks,” Angie replied, pocketing the money. “That’s really sweet of you.”

The woman took another bite of her sandwich, dabbed at her mouth with a napkin, and smiled again.

“You know,” she said. “I was in such a rush this morning and I don’t think we were properly introduced.” She stuck out her hand and met Angie’s bright blue eyes with warm brown ones. “I’m Peggy Carter.”

“Angie Martinelli,” Angie replied with a hint of a smile playing at her lips. She took Peggy’s hand in her own and shook it.

“Lovely to meet you, Miss Martinelli.”

“Yeah,” Angie said. “It’s nice to meet you too.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just in case any of you are a little confused with the timeline, present tense in 1956 and past tense means it's 1946. Simple enough, right? Anyway, sorry for the (massive) delay. Comments are appreciated! :)

**Friday, March 23, 1956 12:02 pm**

There are some times that Peggy almost regrets founding one of the world’s foremost intelligence agencies.

More specifically, she regrets doing it with Howard.

“Howard, I said no.”

“Oh come on, Peg. It’ll be just like the old days. You, me, the boys, and a bottle of the best scotch you’ve ever tasted.” Howard’s voice is muffled by the static, but Peggy can practically hear the smirk playing on his lips.

“No,” she snaps. She shifts the phone to her other ear and leans back in her chair so she can put her feet up on the desk. “We’ve talked about this a hundred times and the answer is still the same. I’m busy here. I don’t have time to go gallivanting off to Europe right now.”

“Not even to blow up another Hydra outpost?” Howard asks.

Peggy shifts the phone against her shoulder so that she can lean forward to grab a folder off the corner the corner of her desk. “I’m looking through the file now and it’s nothing the boys can’t handle on their own.”

“You sure, pal? Dugan says these guys might have information on the scattered Russians.”

Peggy opens her mouth to respond, but then pauses.

“Tell them I want a full report on my desk when they get back, but I really can’t get away right now Howard. I’m sure they can manage just fine.”

“You know, you used to be fun,” Howard says.

“Yeah, and I also used to pour coffee and organize files for a living. Moving up means prioritizing, and I’m afraid _that_ means my meeting with the head of the FBI tomorrow is the most important thing on my plate right now. I’m sorry, but that’s how it has to be.”

“Alright, I understand, pal. I’ll give you a call when we land.”

“Goodbye, Howard.”

Peggy hangs up the phone with a little more force than is completely necessary and leans her elbows on her desk. The file folder slips absently to the desktop as her fingers start automatically massaging her temples to stave off the headache that’s brewing there.

It’s been nearly five years since Howard first convinced her to move to DC and found SHIELD with him, but Peggy’s still not sure she’ll ever get used to the stress of running an intelligence agency.

She stays hunched over her desk for a minute or two longer and then sits up.

“Daniel?” she calls.

It takes a moment before she gets a response, but then Sousa pokes his head in the door.

“Yeah?”

“I need you to cover for me for the afternoon,” Peggy says. She stands up and grabs her coat off the back of her chair. “I’m going out for lunch.”

* * *

Someone’s watching her.

Actually, Peggy’s pretty sure someone’s been watching her from the moment she walked out of the diner, but it’s not until she rounds the corner that she feels the familiar tingle that signifies eyes on the back of her neck. She tightens her grip on her bag of food almost imperceptibly, but she keeps on walking.

After all, rule number one of losing a tail is acting like you belong.

So Peggy weaves in and out the people on the sidewalk. She stops at a cart on the side of the road and buys an ice cream cone even though she hasn’t even eaten her lunch yet. She takes off her coat and drapes it casually over her arm as she walks, looking every bit the part of a nondescript civilian.

The tiniest hint of a smile tugs at the corners of her lips as she walks. She’s enjoying this a little bit more than she’s willing to admit. It’s been a long time since she’s had to ditch a tail.

Too long, as it turns out.

Sitting at a desk all day must be making her soft.

There’s a woman on the corner leaning against a streetlamp, digging through her purse like she’s looking for something. As soon as Peggy passes by, though, she whips around and jabs a needle into her neck before Peggy has time to think.

Peggy drops her lunch and ice cream cone and her coat falls to the ground as she swings around to fight back, but her vision is already starting to blur and limbs feel heavy like she’s underwater.

She still manages to land a hard punch to the woman’s nose and feels the satisfying crunch of a nose under her fist.

Then a man appears from somewhere behind her and pins her arms to her sides.

Peggy can feel herself slipping out of consciousness, but she still manages to spit, “What do you want?”

The two enemy agents maneuver her towards a side street and she’s vaguely aware of a truck idling at the curb.

The man leans down next to her ear, his breath hot warm and sour on her skin. “Information,” he hisses.

“Not talking,” Peggy slurs.

“That’s where you’re wrong.” The woman’s voice is nasally and strained and Peggy grins to herself. That nose is definitely broken. “You see, you might be able to stand up against a standard interrogation, but even you can’t protect against your own mind.

* * *

“So tell me about yourself.”

Angie slid into the booth across from Peggy and set a piece of strawberry rhubarb pie on the table between before folding her own hands on the Formica surface.

“Excuse me?” Peggy asked, raising one eyebrow in question and eyeing the slice of pie.

“I mean, you don’t _have_ to, but I just figured you’ve been coming here during my shift everyday for the past week and don’t think I don’t notice you staring at me when you think I’m not looking.

Peggy’s cheeks flushed a light shade of pink and she looked down at her scarlet fingernails. “I don’t stare.”

“Well how would I know? I’m not lookin’,” Angie teased. She pushed the pie a little closer to Peggy. “This is on me, by the way. You look like you could use something sweet.”

“That’s sweet, but how on earth do you expect to keep this place open very much longer if you keep giving me free food?” Peggy asked.

“My boss lets us take something extra at the end of our shift and would ya look at that? I just clocked out a few minutes ago.”

“So I’m eating _your_ food then?”

“Just shut up and eat the pie, English.”

If Peggy took any notice of the nickname, she didn’t let it show. She just grabbed her fork and took a bite of the pie. A bit of the filling dripped out of her mouth and down her chin. Angie giggled and passed her a napkin.

Peggy’s cheeks turned a light shade of pink as she took the napkin and dabbed at her chin. “Thanks.”

“Don’t mention it.”

There was an uncomfortable moment of silence broken only by Angie tapping her fingers rhythmically on the table.

“Okay, I’ll start,” Angie said. “My name’s Angela Martinelli. One day I’ll be a real actress on a Broadway stage, but until then I’m working here.”

_None of this is real; I just need information from you and there’s a pretty good chance they’ll kill you once they have what they want._

Angie left that last part out.

“Huh.” Peggy nodded and took another bite of pie.

“You know generally silence means it’s your turn to talk,” Angie prompted. “So what about you?”

“What _about_ me?” Peggy replied.

“Oh come on,” Angie insisted. “All I know about you is your name and the fact that you come in here everyday like clockwork.”

Now that she thought about it though, Angie couldn’t really remember how she knew that. This was only conversation she remembered having with Peggy and even when she wracked her brain, she couldn’t for the life of her remember what had happened in the interim. That memory serum was some powerful stuff.

“Don’t you have work to do?” Peggy asked. Her voice was teasing and there was a playful spark in her dark eyes.

Angie shook her head. “I clocked out right before I came over here. Didn’t want to have to tear my attention away from you.”

_Nice one, Angie._

A faint pink blush crept up Peggy’s neck and she looked down at the table. “Do you treat all your customers this sweetly?”

“Only the ones I like.”

_Only the ones I’m being paid to manipulate._

Peggy’s lips twitched up in an involuntary smile as she set her fork on the now-empty plate in front of her and dabbed a napkin at her lips.

“Fine. My name is Margaret Carter and I’m a switchboard operator at the New York Bell Company.”

The lie slipped from Peggy’s mouth so smoothly and she looked so calm and collected that Angie almost believed for a half second. But she knew better.

Before she could say anything else, though Peggy pulled a few bills out of her purse and set them on the table as she stood up.

“Hey, I said on the house didn’t I?” Angie protested.

“Consider it a tip then,” Peggy replied. “Thank you for the pie and the company, Angie, but I really should be going.”

“So soon?”

“Yes, I’m afraid I have to get home. My roommate—“

Peggy paused suddenly and blinked a few times. She rested her hand on the top of the booth as if to steady herself.

“Hey, you okay?” Angie asked. She stood up and placed her hand on Peggy’s shoulder only to have the Englishwoman wave her off.

“Fine. I’m fine. Just stood up a little too quickly is all.”

Angie didn’t push, but she bit her lip and watched Peggy like a hawk. She wasn’t sure what was going on, but having a target get sick or maybe even die during a mission was definitely not what she had signed up for.

Peggy straightened, but then stumbled forward and pressed both hands onto the tabletop.

That was when Angie’s own vision started to blur.

The other customers in the automat flickered in and out of view like a fuzzy television screen and the scene started to go dark around the edges.

“Oh come on. Now?” Angie cried, throwing her hands up.

“What are you—?” Peggy trailed off as the room continued to get blurrier. Angie just put her hands on her hips and huffed impatiently.

There was another minute or so of gradual fading and then everything went black.

* * *

 

 There’s a kink in Angie’s neck when she wakes up: a side effect of laying on a hard metal table for...

“Five hours,” the blonde scientist says when she sees Angie’s eyes flitting around the room. “You were under for about five hours.”

Angie nods and turns her head so she can see the woman lying on the other table.

Agent Carter stirs the slightest bit and she slowly blinks her eyes open. They’re cloudy and unfocused and so unlike those of the woman that had been sitting across from Angie in the automat just a few minutes ago.

Well, more like ten years ago, but who’s counting?”

Scientist Lady peels the electrodes off Angie’s skin. Her nails are sharp and they scrape across Angie’s temples, but Angie pretends not to notice.

Once she’s free of all the wires, she sits up and swings her legs over the side of the table, giving herself a moment to adjust to being back in the real world.

“Time’s different in there,” she remarks.

The young girl is at her side with a paper cup of water. Angie takes it and sips it slowly as the girl nods and tries to explain.

“Memory is a fluid thing,” she says quietly. “You’ll get to the points you need to get to and the  rest will blur since you’re not really living it. How long did it feel like you were in there for?”

“At least a couple of weeks,” Angie says.

“And how much do you actually remember now?”

“Just seeing Peg—Agent Carter come into the automat everyday. Everything else is just blank.”

“Then the serum’s working perfectly,” the girl says with a hint of a smile. She reaches for the water cup, but Angie takes another sip and speaks again.

“So can you actually see what’s going on when we’re under the serum?”

“No. We’re blind to it.”

“So I’m on my own in there?” Angie asks.

“Yes.”

“Huh.”

Angie hands the cup over and finally stands up. Her legs are still a little weak, but it only takes a couple of steps to adjust.

Agent Carter, on the other hand, is still out of it.

Scientist Lady is pulling the electrodes off her head with a little more force than is probably necessary and Agent Carter’s face twists into a wince.

Angie still almost can’t believe this is the same woman from the automat.

She’s taller than Angie, but lying on that lab table she looks so small and helpless. She’s pale, too and her hands tremble when Scientist Lady removes her restraints.

“Ready,” Scientist Lady says.

Two armed guards enter the lab and grab Agent Carter by her shoulders, pulling her upright. Any ordinary person would have flopped around in their grip like a rag doll, but Agent Carter is no ordinary person. Even drugged and half-conscious, she keeps her head held high as the guards take her out of the lab.

Angie follows after them. They lead her down a long, narrow hallway, around a few corners, and finally stop in front of a big metal door. One of the guards opens it as the other fumbles around his belt to find something.

“Here,” he says when he finds it. _It_ is a capped syringe that he presses into Angie’s palm. “For when you’re finished.”

Angie nods and tightens her fist around the syringe.

The other guard practically shoves Agent Carter into the waiting cell and then holds the door open. Angie swallows hard and slips inside.

“You,” Agent Carter mumbles when she sees Angie. “You look familiar. I know you from somewhere.”

“Yeah,” Angie says. “The automat back in New York. You used to come in every morning for coffee. Do you remember?”

Agent Carter furrows her eyebrows and for a brief second, there’s a glimmer of recognition in her eyes, but it passes and she shakes her head. “I don’t remember it.”

“Either way,” Angie says with a shrug. “I need you to tell me about the spider. Where is it?”

Agent Carter’s mask instantly slips into place and she sits down on the hard, narrow cot against the wall.

“I’m not talking,” she says.

“Come on, English. Not even to me?” Angie tries.

That flash of recognition is back for a little longer this time, but it still disappears.

“I’m. Not. Talking.”

“Fine,” Angie says. “Have it your way. I’ve got plenty of time.”

In one fluid motion, she uncaps the syringe in her hand, surges forward, and plunges the needle into Agent Carter’s neck. She pushes the plunger down until all the sedative’s been forced out and then backs up and recaps the needle.

It takes effect within seconds. Agent Carter’s eyes are already starting to droop, so Angie just walks back out into the hallway.

The cell door slams shut behind her with a final metallic clang.


End file.
